Eros and Change Rooms
by VanishedElf
Summary: Victor drags Yuuri into a change room after they skate their free programs, unable to wait one moment longer to let Yuuri know how he felt about his performance. Who would have known things would be so different when they aren't on the ice? Smut ensues. Victuuri, Yuuri/Victor, KatsukiYuuri/VictorNikiforov, YuuriKatsuki/VictorNikiforov, Yuri/Victor


"You _torment_ me."

Yuuri tilted his head to the side. The expression on his face was bafflingly innocent. Even the way his voice lilted upwards ever so slightly as he asked, "Really?" was little indication of his true thoughts. This was the way Yuuri was used to acting. This was the way he acted even when he was twisted with nerves, hands so shaky he could barely lace up his skates. He was good at seeming detached. But the true thoughts in his mind—at least right now—were about as far a stride from these false impressions as they could be.

"Yea—" Victor replied, cut short as Yuuri ran a hand up the side of the older skater's neck. Strands of silver-blond hair tangled in his fingers as he explored the contour of Victor's nape, the base of his skull. The thing was, he needed something to hold onto.

"I don't know why you say these kinds of things," he scolded, at last securing an ample handful of hair.

Victor gasped, allowing his head to be drawn backwards, long pale stretch of neck exposed, faerie-dusted eyelids fluttering like birch leaves in an invisible wind. There was something so tantalizingly provocative about the sight that Yuuri almost doubled over from the rush of blood that plunged into his crotch. He could feel his cock burning inside his pants, pulsing impatiently against the side of his leg.

But his face was as impassive as ever.

His hand had gravitated around Victor's head so that a single thumb was grazing his coach's lips, soft as a feather-duster, teasing the puffy red skin with unpredictable strokes. "Yuuuuriiii," Victor breathed, his Russian accent flaring hard. "What are you doing to me?"

"You know exactly what I'm doing to you, Victor."

Yuuri assumed his own mouth was just as swollen as the older skater's. The moment he'd gotten off the ice, Victor had yanked him into his change room and had begun kissing him with so much fervour Yuuri had lost his breath harder than during his routine. The door was clumsily barricaded with their gym bags. Shitty security, but there was no time to worry about that.

When they were alone, Victor's kisses were quite different from the peck he'd delivered in front of the cameras that time last season, the same way their emotions too were reversed, Yuuri becoming unreadable and controlled, Victor splayed wide open. He sucked Yuuri's lips, one at a time, biting them as his hunger surged, pausing only to allow their tongues to thrash like hooked fish, all the while breathing his hot, sweet breath directly into Yuuri's lungs. It was like inhaling smoke from the most intoxicating plant in existence.

"You know," Yuuri said, unzipping the front of Victor's pants, "exactly what I'm _going_ to do to you."

"Ah," Victor whispered, nodding faintly, angling his hips so that Yuuri could yank his pants down.

Yuuri could only imagine how unstoppable Victor must have been when he was Yuuri's age if he was like this now. The older skater's briefs were already soaked with precum. Yuuri reached under the waistband and began palming the head of Victor's cock. He might have made a greater show of it—teasing along Victor's hips, brushing against him through his underwear, but there was simply no time. The reporters were waiting. Yakov was waiting. Everyone was waiting.

The skin rolled under his hand, slick and raw. It was probably impossible, but he figured he knew the distinct texture of Victor's ejaculate at this point. When you loved someone enough, it wasn't hard to convince yourself of such things. He dropped quickly to his knees, rucking Victor's shirt up with one hand and engulfing Victor's cock in his mouth. He may not have known the texture exactly, but he certainly knew Victor's distinct _taste._

"You dirty little—"

"Fucking beautiful—"

"Here, like this, quickly—!"

They whispered and hissed frantic, dirty-little-nothings at one another as lube was hurriedly retrieved from somebody's gym bag and more clothing was removed. Yuuri prepped Victor against a bench, moving his fingers against his coach's prostate and working his cock with the other hand. Victor clasped the sides of the bench with strong hands, his chin ducked against his chest, silver hair dangling in his winter-blue eyes. Yuuri worked as methodically as he could, but still Victor almost came twice in his hand.

"Hold on," the older skater gasped, his voice breaking involuntarily into a whine on the second word. He was gripping Yuuri's wrist, holding it still with a trembling hand. Yuuri could feel Victor's cock veritably throbbing underneath his fingers. How his coach had such self-control was beyond him.

"Well," Victor said at last, flipping his head to the side to reveal a single eye. He winked rather shakily, his expression an attempt at his usual cheeky smile. "I think you're going to have to fuck me now, Yuuri, if you want to fuck me at all. You see, I'm right on the edge and I can't seem to calm myself down, so if you wouldn't mind—"

The handy thing about being two athletes was that both of them were remarkably strong. Yuuri in particular was known for his stamina, so their little arrangement was perfectly sensible, even if they'd both just performed their free programs in front of hundreds and hundreds of people. Yuuri picked Victor up, pushing him up against a locker, where the older skater could rest one of his feet on the bench. He yanked his own pants down, freeing his drenched cock at last, and pushed slowly into Victor's opening.

Victor's arms were supporting him from behind. His torso was pushed forward and his hips were buckled inwards. His mouth, still crooked, hung open in heady gasps. A cherry blush tinged his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. From where Yuuri was standing, his coach looked so resplendently vulnerable he almost felt like weeping. His desire was sure to eat him alive. He wantedVictor as he'd always wanted Victor, before he knew any of his dreams had even the minutest chance of coming true.

He must've been breathing pretty loudly, because Victor reached around and dragged him inwards by each of his muscular buttocks.

"Unghh," Yuuri groaned, drowning out Victor's own exclamation with his own, his voice pitching upwards as he slipped all the way inside the older skater. It had taken everything he had to remain silent up to this point, but he was no longer worried about who could hear them outside the door. Victor always seemed to bring him to headspaces where these things didn't matter. All that existed was the feeling of Victor's warm insides wrapped all around him; those long, slender legs coiled around his back; and the sound of his coach's breathy, indecipherable curse-words as Yuuri fucked him with all the insatiable hunger in the world. It was during times like this that Yuuri would sometimes think back to all the times he'd fantasized about doing this exact thing, alone in his room, fucking himself with uncharacteristic bliss beneath one of his parents' sheets, but not today. Today he was too high from his performance to _think_ at all.

He pumped Victor's body over-and-over, watching his coach's eyes swim between distant delirium, intimate presence, and mild shock. He fucked Victor against the locker. He dragged him over to the window and thrusted into him on the sill. At last, he pushed him to the ground and shoved him over the bench, giving his ass a hard slap before entering him once more.

"Oh my _god,_ " Victor moaned belligerently.

"That's right," Yuuri gasped, increasing his speed. He knew how much his coach secretly liked to be treated like this. His hips clapped against Victor's taught ass in quick spurts, his nails digging raw gouges into the older skater's left cheek. He longed to be deep in Victor when he came, deeper than was likely possible. He nudged his legs farther apart, leaning over Victor so that their bodies began to touch. His nipples grazed Victor's sweat-slicked skin with each thrust.

"I'm going to come," he warned.

"Oh _Yuuri,_ " Victor growled through gritted teeth. Yuuri saw his coach reach down and weakly begin to jerk himself off. It scarcely took very much to finish him at this point. Hardly a second later Victor's voice caught in his throat, his voice going mute. Yuuri allowed himself to tip over the edge just as he felt an enduring spasm begin to rock through Victor's insides.

"Good god!"

White spurts decorated the tile between Victor's knees like party favours. At the last moment, Yuuri dragged Victor up against him, holding him in a tight embrace as he rode out the final throws of his own orgasm.

Their hair was dripping with sweat. Their bodies were glowing with heat. They were in love, in the best way possible. They wiped down frantically with a towel, washing up as much as they could in the sink, and threw on their clothes.

"I'm amazed nobody walked in on us," Yuuri remarked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Me too." Victor's smile evinced a tantalizing hint of embarrassment. "We were loud."

"You mean, _you_ were loud."

"Well—"

Before Victor could fully respond, the door creaked open with the slyness of a fox. None other than Christophe Giacometti appeared in the doorframe, his arms crossed over a glittering leotard. Yuuri covered his mouth with two hands. He immediately emulated the shame-faced, innocent boy he usually appeared, and this time it was no lie.

"Funny," Chris said after a marked pause. "I didn't think there was a shower in here."

"There isn't," Victor replied.

"Oh." Chris leaned over and inspected himself in the mirror, positioning a stray hair back in place.

Yuuri bit his lip, praying Victor would hold his peace.

Of course, he didn't.

"Why do you ask?" the coach inquired calmly.

"Oh, no reason." Chris ran a finger along the side of his mouth, tidying lipstick that wasn't there. "Just, you two are awfully _wet_ for there being no shower in this room."

"Hmm," Victor said, joining Chris in front of the mirror. He began to preen his hair. "I suppose you're right."

Yuuri hurried out of the change room with one hand jammed over his burning face. Funny how Victor could get him mixed up in these kinds of calamities. Funny how no matter how many times he told himself it wouldn't happen again, it did.

Funny how he didn't _really_ mind.

"Yuuri," Phichit hollered from down the hall. "Hurry up or you're gonna miss my program."

"Right!"

"Where were you? You and Victor usually spend a million years in the kiss and cry."

Kiss and cry. More like kiss and…

"Oh, nowhere," Yuuri said.

 _ **FIN**_


End file.
